


The Aftermath

by moonshinedelirious



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Soldier/Nurse-relationship, cannot stress the angst part enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonshinedelirious/pseuds/moonshinedelirious
Summary: When your fiancé joins the war, everybody believes he'll come back soon enough. Then the war efforts go south, and you have to come to terms with the fact that he might never return. So, in an effort to connect with him one last time, you try to find out what exactly happened at Dunkirk. And what better way than to ask a soldier who was there?AKA, just my excuse to give Alex a blanket and some warm tea, and help him deal with his trauma.





	1. Prologue

_Dearest (Y/N),_

_I hope you didn’t get too worried when you didn’t get any letters for a while. Rest assured, I am just fine. Hungry, tired, and more than a little disenchanted, but physically fine. Though you would find I lost a lot of weight since I left home – don’t tell my mother, you know how fuzzy she is about regular meals. It has been a busy few weeks. We soldiers have been advised by our officers not to write too much about the war proceedings, in case the letters get intercepted by the Germans, so I can’t tell you a lot about my time here in France. But I can tell you this: The Germans are coming closer every day. The French think they’ll cross the Belgian border soon enough. Did you ever hear a Frenchman speak English? Most of them barely speak a single word, but some of them are passable. Do you think I’ll still remember anything from my two years of France in school? I have almost given up hope, but I won’t give up trying. In your last letter you told me you got a job in the café down the street from your parents place. How is that going? I hope they don’t make you work too much. If I was home, we would be married by now, and I promise you that you never would have had to work. Did you finish your training yet? Please don’t be angry about the lack of letters; the officers barely give us time to write._

_Please don’t forget about me. I love you._

_Mitch_

Your eyes darted over the page-long letter again and again, drinking in every word lest you overlooked a vital part of Mitchell’s message. It had been weeks since his last letter, and for a while you had startled at every ring of the doorbell, afraid that bad news awaited you on the other side of the door. Instead, this letter had arrived early in the morning and just for a short while all worries had been lifted from your shoulders. It had been like this since the war had begun and Mitch had been drafted. You knew you were not alone in this situation, which was a slight help. The small town looked almost deserted, and there was barely any family that wasn’t missing a member or two. But luckily your training to become a nurse had offered you an escape to the atmosphere, keeping you occupied. You had wanted to work as a nurse even before the war had started, but since Mitch had left you had put much more effort into your training, determined to help out the war effort in any way you could. Even though you were far from the front, the war was ever present. The newspapers wrote about nothing else, the radio hosts blabbed about Churchill’s strategies and the newest developments non-stop, and even the people couldn’t stop whispering about it all. It was even worse, though, when people fell silent. Silence signalled bad news, and you dreaded seeing the sunken faces and hollow eyes of your neighbours that let you know another young man had fallen at the front.  At the thought pressure started building in your throat. At least France had been relatively quiet until now.

You swallowed hard, rubbing your engagement ring. Mitch had given it to you the night before he had left, as a promise that he would come back. He had looked smart and handsome in his new uniform, and you remembered how back then you both still had been excited. Everyone had thought the soldiers would be back for Christmas, with adventurous stories to tell. But Christmas had come and gone, and still the war was raging with no end in sight. And when the first bad news started to trickle in, the country tensed and the mood plummeted. But at least now you knew that your fiancé was alright. You glanced down at the date scrawled on the right corner of the paper – _25 th of April, 1940 _it said in Mitchell’s shaky letters – and corrected yourself. At least now you knew he had been alright a week ago. With the air force flying to and fro over the channel it was hard to understand why letters took a week to be delivered, but you suspected they had more important things to deliver than their soldier’s letters.

The next week went by quietly. No more letters arrived, and there were no news from the front. Until one day you came home from the bakery and found your parents in the kitchen, the radio turned up to maximum volume. As soon as you entered the room and saw their ashen faces you knew something was very wrong, so you quietly joined them at the table. The longer the report droned on, the deeper your heart sank. The Nazis had invaded the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg in one fast strike, and were now marching towards France. The quiet days at the French front were apparently over for good, and Britain was expected to see its first serious engagements soon. Your hands began to shake, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind at once. So all the losses Britain had suffered so far had not come from serious engagements yet, and France had been quiet and safe so far, and Mitch was there, and there would be horrible fighting soon, and _Mitch was there._ A wrangled sob escaped your throat, ripping both your parents out of their trance. Within a second your mother was upon you, holding you in her arms and whispering comfortingly into your ear. But you were inconsolable, and nothing your parents said could wrestle you from the hands of panic.

A few days later the German troops crossed the French border, and the fighting began. If the atmosphere back in England had been tense before, it was almost unbearable now. Whispers of strategy and war efforts were instead replaced by unnervingly loud conversations about the weather and other trivial things. Now that the fighting had really begun, nobody found joy in discussing it anymore. In fact, the war became a topic to be avoided unless in private conversation with close friends and family. Despite this it was the only topic on your mind, and you doubted you were the only one. There had been no new letters from Mitchell, which was not that surprising considering he was probably fighting the Nazis in every waking moment. Still, this lack of news was agitating and unsettling, and it just send your mind reeling. You must’ve dreamt up thousands of scenarios in your mind by now, a thousand different ways for Mitchell to die. You regularly woke up from nightmares. Even though you normally would have a few more months until your graduation, you were declared a fully trained nurse, just like the rest of your course.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, this dire situation got even worse. In only little more than a week, the British troops had been beaten. Well, not necessarily destroyed, but tactically outdone. The news got worse and worse. 400,000 British and French soldiers were trapped on a beach somewhere in France, completely surrounded by enemies and with no other way to escape than to flee across the channel, back to Britain. And, according to the news, the evacuation of these brave soldiers proved difficult, both because of the limited access points for ships, but also because German U-Boats roamed the channel, sinking every British ship they came across. Every morning you woke up to worse news, it seemed, and the only way to keep your mind off the disaster – and Mitchell, _oh god Mitchell_ , somewhere on that Beach, bombed and surrounded – was your work. The military had annexed the local school and church, and frantic preparations started for an onslaught of wounded soldiers. Your town had been chosen as the primary first-aid station, and you had your hands full with sorting through equipment and setting up a make-shift hospital in these buildings. Until one day, the preparations were declared done, and you had nothing else to do but wait. Still, during the preparations you had realised that you were in no way prepared for all 400,000 men stuck in France. In fact, the newly-declared military compound only offered space for 40,000 people at best, and once you realised that your heart sank into your stomach. Apparently the government didn’t anticipate many survivors.

 

 

It was a miracle, truly a miracle. Thanks to the sacrifice and participation of the civilian population, almost 300,000 troops were rescued from Dunkirk. Despite the good news, you were more stressed than ever before. Thanks to the lack of preparation for the miracle, there was a lot of work to be done in very little time. New first-aid stations were established all over the country in record time, and it was decided that the survivors of Dunkirk would be split up. Those that would be sent to your town were to arrive any day, and again you had your hands full. You had little time to wonder about Mitchell’s fate, but the thought of him was always at the back of your mind, pulsing like a headache. In the hours before the train arrived, you and the other less experienced nurse were subjected to intensive last minute training, while the older women ran around the compound like startled chickens, making sure everything was prepared.

And then, in the early afternoon, the first train filled with soldiers arrived and all hell broke loose.


	2. I. Aboulia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter where you meet Alex for the first time :) I hope you enjoy!

You watched with hooded eyes as the smoke of your cigarette drifted up towards the night sky. It had only been a few days since the soldiers arrived, and you had barely left the military grounds since then. Your days were spent examining and recording the soldiers that had arrived, sorting them into care categories. Surprisingly few for them had severe injuries, and at first you had wondered. Then, you realised, those that had been wounded had to be left behind. There had been so little space on the boats, that those that weren’t likely to make it had been disregarded. At that realisation horror and anger had churned in your stomach, combining to a sickening mixture of feelings that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. It didn’t help either that you barely got any sleep. Because of the lack of nurses, your shifts lasted for 18, sometimes 20 hours, and you were lucky if your breaks between them were long enough for you to go home. Lately you’d had to make do with power-naps in the nurse’s office. Luckily now, after 2 shifts and 48 hours on the compound, you had a longer break, so you could finally get a proper good night’s sleep. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go home just yet. Too much had happened in the last few days, and you needed a cigarette and a bit of quiet to take it all in and process it. There had been no sign of Mitch so far, and even though his parents had waited at the train station with a sign, nobody they talked to recognised his name or had any further information. But you still held out a bit of hope. You’d phoned the other first-aid station across the country and gave them Mitchell’s information, asking them to call you back at work as soon as they found him. So far, the phone had stayed silent, but you knew from experience how hectic and chaotic life was inside first-aid stations. Even though you felt like you never stopped walking and examining and working, you still had hundreds of soldiers on the compound whose names hadn’t been registered. The absence of news about your fiancé didn’t necessarily mean bad news.

You took another drag of your cigarette, enjoying the burn of the nicotine at the back of your throat. It was a bad habit, you knew, and for a short moment your father’s disapproving gaze appeared before your inner eye. Still, you desperately needed any relaxation that you could get; anything that kept you functioning during the long stressful shifts amid the shell-shocked and wounded men. Your eyes darted around the courtyard that belonged to the former school of the district, surveying the soldiers that were hanging out outside. Most of them were sitting by themselves, sucking on a cigarette and staring at nothing. A few were doing the same in groups, but nobody talked. It was eerie, seeing a space filled up with so many people but without the noise that usually accompanied crowds. You shuddered at the thought, remembering what they had been through. It was hard to understand what they had seen and done, especially because so much of it remained hidden from you. The look in the men’s eyes when you examined their bodies haunted you in your sleep. Whenever you took a nap, you startled awake, with the image of their empty, red-rimmed eyes burning in your mind.

 “Excuse me, mam,” A tired voice interrupted your thoughts, and you turned to see a young soldier, “Any chance you could give me one of those?”

He gestured towards your cigarette, and with a courteous nod you pulled the pack out of your jacket pocket, offering it to him. It took a bit of fumbling before he finally produced one of the small, white sticks, and with a small smile he gestured for a lighter.

“Thanks.” He mumbled as you handed it to him.

He took a long drag, his eyes closing in pleasure as he inhaled. When he opened them again you found they were just as empty as the others’. The young man sniffed, handing the lighter back to you.

“ ’m Alex. Nice to meet you.”

“(Y/N).” You smiled at him, taking another drag.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, (Y/N), you look very tired.”

 “That’s cause I am fucking tired, Alex.”

A small smile spread on the soldier’s features and he nodded.

“We all are. Listen, while we’re talking, can I ask you something?” He waited for your approval before he continued. “A lot of the boys are wondering why we’re still here. We’re not allowed to leave the premises, but the majority of us are just sitting around, you know?”

“You mean they haven’t told you?”

“Told us what?”

You sighed and took one last drag of your cigarette, before dropping it on the ground and crushing it with your heel.

“The officers were meant to tell you. We’re not only providing medical care here, but we’re also recording everybody’s details. We have the names of the people who went to Dunkirk, but we have no idea who came back. And if we don’t know, then neither do your families, friends and loved ones. We just want to organise the chaos a little bit, get everything back to normal.”

“Normal,” He repeated, contempt lacing his voice. “Sure. Normal.”

You grimaced.

“Yeah, well. Obviously we’re trying to help those who need it most first, so the soldiers with the gravest wounds are recorded and treated first, and so on. So if you haven’t been examined and recorded, that means we think you’re quite healthy for now. Just be glad you’re one of the lucky ones then.” You looked around the courtyard and lowered your voice. “To be honest, nobody expected so many of you to make it across the channel.”

“Right,” He answered shortly, taking another drag. “Well, then, I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for the fag, though, and the information.”

“Wait,” You took a step forward before he had the chance to leave. “Did you know a soldier named Mitchell Sharpe? He was at Dunkirk as well, but…”

Understanding dawned on Alex’s features, and the look of sadness in his eyes deepened as he regarded you, before shaking his head.

“No, sorry.”

 You sighed, hating how he was pitying _you_ now, that he even still had the capacity for such an emotion.

“Well. There were a lot of people there,” You answered, forcing your voice to sound more upbeat. “Can’t expect you to know everyone, huh?”

He shook his head again and turned around, leaving you alone in the small corner of the schoolyard.

 

When you came home that night, both your parents were still awake, even though it was shortly after midnight. They both sat in the living room next to the telephone, your father reading a newspaper while your mother knitted a sweater. Soft music was playing from the radio in the background. You dropped your back on the floor and slipped out of your shoes, while your father slowly folded his paper.

“Any news?” You asked.

He shook his head and exchanged a look with his wife, who put down her knitting on the coffee table.

“We wanted to talk to you, honey.”

“Well, then talk.”

Uncomfortable by the tone in your father’s voice, you hugged yourself and took a few steps into the living room. Your parents exchanged another look, before your mother got up and walked towards your, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“Come sit down with us for a moment.”

Once you were seated between your parents on the couch, your mother continued.

“Hun, please don’t get angry with us now, just listen. We’ve been up all day waiting by the phone, hoping for any news from Mitchell’s family –“

“Look,” Your father chimed in, cutting his wife off. “We want Mitchell to come back fine and healthy, just like you. But it’s been a few days since the soldiers came back and we might have to consider that he might just not be-“

“You think he’s dead,” Your voice sounded cold even to your own ears. “You think he didn’t make it.”

“No, sweetie, no. We just think it would be smart if you prepared yourself in case he… in case he is.”

Your mother rubbed your back, her eyes filled with pity. You shook your head and got up, an icy pit in your stomach.

“I’m not giving up on him. Now if that’s all, my shift starts in less than 8 hours and I would like to get some sleep.”

And without granting them another look you stalked out of the living room.

 

The next day was just like the days before, but at least you were a bit more rested. You spent most of the day inside your examination room, with soldier after soldier sitting down on the table and subduing to your examinations. As heartbreaking as it was, today you were almost glad that most of them didn’t initiate conversation, and answered to your probing questions as curtly as possible. You needed time to think. As much as you hated to admit it, your parents might have been right. Still, considering the possibility that Mitchell was dead seemed like a betrayal, and it also seemed unthinkable. Of course you knew that it was outside of his control, but you found yourself touching your engagement ring as often as possible, clinging to his promise. He would never break a vow.

“Right, that’s all love,” You smiled reassuringly at the soldier sitting in front of you. “Only a few minor burns. Come back in tomorrow so we can change dressing.”

He just nodded and shuffled out the door.

“Next!” You yelled out into the hallway, sticking your head out of the doorframe.

Another young soldier got up, and with a smile you saw that you knew him already. “Oh, hey, (y/n).”

“Alex, was it?” 

He sat down on the examination table and nodded.

“Mind giving me the rest of your details?”

He complied, rattling down his last name, age, and hometown. You quickly scribbled it down, before putting the notepad away and stepping closer to him.

“Thank you. I’m going to examine you know, if that’s ok?” When he nodded, you started searching his head for hidden trauma. “Any specific complaints lately? Anything you think I should look for?”

He shrugged. “To be honest, my entire body has been sore for days. I also think I might get a cold. Spent a lot of time in the water, you know?”

You finished up his head, and took a step back.

“Right. Ok. We’ll have to check for pneumonia then. But first, mind getting undressed? I need to treat any wounds you might have. Did you already have them cleaned?”

“Yeah. Right when we arrived.”

You turned around to give him a bit of privacy while he undressed quickly. When you turned around he was just in his knickers. Even though you’d seen the naked bodies of hundreds of the soldiers, the sight stung you every time. His ribs were clearly visible, protruding from torso. The skin was pulled tight over the bones. You sucked your lip into your mouth as you stepped closer and gently pushed him back down on the examination table, starting to examine his wounds. His breathing was accelerated and he let out a hiss with every touch.

“Well, it seems like you’re mostly alright,” You concluded after a thorough examination, straightening your posture. “Just a few minor injuries and lots of bruises. I’m gonna change your dressing and then you’re good to go for now.”

“Thank you, mam,” he muttered, while you were retrieving the new bandages. “I appreciate it.”

Instead of answering you smiled down at him reassuringly, before bending down again to do your job.

“Hey,” He said after a while, his voice hesitant. “Did you ever hear anything from your man? The guy you were looking for, I mean – Miles, Michael, something like that?”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on your fingers.

“Want me to ask around? Maybe one of the guys knew him. Somebody must’ve.”

“Knows him.” You corrected absentmindedly, taking a step back to check your work.

“Knows him,” He muttered sheepishly, “Yeah. Of course.”

You did your best to ignore the doubt in his voice as you nodded, before turning to wash your hands in the sink. Clothes rustled behind you as he got dressed, before quiet steps signalled he was starting towards the door.

“Thank you, Alex.”

A short silence, and then the door opened and closed behind you.


	3. II. News

The next few days disappeared in a blur of blood and rustling paper. There was little time to think, between assisting in hour-long operations and stalking the barracks for unrecorded soldiers. You worked for 18 hours a day, and then fell into your bed for a few precious hours of sleep, before rising and repeating the day before. At least the long hours and straining activity kept your mind from wandering, yet still the absence of news about Mitchell always sat at the back of your head. Exhaustion took root in your every bone, until all that kept you on her legs was your sense of duty, and the heartache you felt at the sight of the drained and traumatised soldiers. No matter how tired and overwhelmed you felt, these men needed certainly felt worse. And they needed your help.

You barely spoke to your parents. Most nights you just stayed on the compound, both because all hands were needed there and because you didn’t want to go home. On the few occasions you saw them, you exchanged the minimal courtesies required. You hadn’t forgotten what they had said about Mitchell a few days before, and even though it was more and more likely that they had been right, you weren’t ready to forgive them for giving up on your fiancé that easily. You were almost able to forget him at work, but his fate was like a dark cloud hanging over your head whenever you had a free moment. So you kept yourself busy, and avoided going home.

But despite your best efforts to push him out of your mind, you couldn’t avoid the bad news that eventually caught up with you. You were sorting papers in the nurse’s room, going through the patient’s files that you had recorded and ticking the boxes on a list of names provided by the government. It was boring, exhausting work, but still you were glad of it. These were the only hours in the day were you could rest your legs and sit in a chair. Your feet seemed to be constantly hurting. Afterwards, you were scheduled to assist in the amputation of hand. A small wound, but when the man arrived at the hospital infection was already festering in his flesh. They hadn’t been able to save the limb.

Suddenly, Alex stormed into the office, heaving and gesturing wildly.

“I found someone who knows him!” He panted. “Hurry, I found a guy.”

And with that he was already out of the door again, pausing only once to check if you were following.

Without thinking you dropped your pen, not the ink spilling into all directions as it hit the ground. You mindlessly followed the running soldier, who led you on a seemingly endless chase through multiple hallways and staircases, until they finally burst outside through a backdoor. Alex skidded to a halt in front of an older soldier, who was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the small brick wall that separated the schoolyard and the former church.

 “That’s him. Gus, that – that’s her. Mitchell’s fiancé.”

The other soldier – Gus – sucked on his fag, before shaking his head.

“It’s Mitchell Sharpe you’re looking for, yeah?”

Eagerly, you nodded. Finally you’d find out what happened to Mitch, and your mind was assailed with different emotions. Joy, excitement and fear made you dizzy, and your guts weighed heavy in your stomach. You swallowed nervously.  

“He talked about you all the time. Never seen a man so lovestruck, honest.”

“What happened to him?”

Gus sighed.

“He got on a boat with me, back to England.”

“So he’s alive?”

Laughter bubbled in your stomach, and a wide smile spread on your lips. Then Gus slowly shook his head and your stomach dropped.

 “The Germans … there was torpedo. I was picked up by one of the passing fishing boats, but I didn’t see Mitch anywhere. He – He must’ve drowned.”

For a second it was like the world stopped. Your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears as you tumbled, vaguely aware of the concern and sorrow in the faces of the two men. His words echoed through your head, and it was as if your brain didn’t want to understand the meaning of his words. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be dead; every fibre in your being struggled against that truth. A high pitched noise slowly pierced through the fog that surrounded your mind, and slowly you became aware that you were screaming. You felt your legs give up underneath you, and when Alex caught you, you clung to his arm. Still, you couldn’t stop the wailing escaping your lungs. It just wasn’t fair. So many men had made it back, so many more than anticipated, yet still it hadn’t been enough. Mitchell was gone, and he would never come back, and your parents had been right and … _he had promised!_  How could he promise? An almost inhuman screech escaped your lips, as you ripped his ring from your finger, mindlessly flinging it away.

By now your weeping had attracted a number of bystanders, most watching the spectacle in silence. Alex darted over the faces of the crowd helplessly, holding you up with an arm around your shoulders. If he let go of you, you would surely fall, so he couldn’t, but he found himself wishing he was anywhere but here. When he found Gus, he had wanted you to know and he knew you would be grieving, but never had it crossed his mind that your reaction would be so extreme. For a second he wondered if the months at the front had numbed him to the pain of death. But he didn’t want to think about that now, not when your screams were still piercing his ears. His searching eyes landed on a soldier that he knew vaguely – had he been on the boat with him? – and he mouthed for him to get a nurse.

It only took a minute for the head nurse to arrive, taking the girl from his arms and ushering her back inside. That minute seemed to stretch into eternity, though, with the girl hanging on to his arm, her eyes mindless and numb as she looked up at the sky, screaming and cursing and wailing. He was vaguely aware of a low ringing in his ears, and the familiar feeling of helplessness started to rise in his chest. He swallowed it down, watching you disappear behind the doors of the building. As horrible as it was, he had to admit he was relieved that you were gone. Nothing could have prepared him for dealing with another human being in this state.

Gus was still standing in the same spot, rolling another cigarette.

“Poor thing,” He muttered. “But at least she knows now.”

 “Yeah.”

Gus shrugged, holding the cigarette between his lips while fishing for a lighter.

“She deserves to know.”

 

 

When you finally regained your senses, you were sitting in the nurse’s room again, a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a steaming cup of tea cradled in your hands. You took a tentative sip, and only then noticed the head nurse standing in front of you, eyeing you expectantly. For a second you struggled to remember her name – was it Hannah? Beth, maybe?  - before you swallowed and slowly shook your head.

“What?”

Your voice was weak, your throat scratching as you spoke.

“Just drink up. A good tea works wonders, I always say.”

You took another sip, before mumbling your thanks. Hannah – if that was indeed her name – turned away satisfied, rummaging through the files on the desk.

“Want to talk about it?”

You began shaking your head, before realising the other woman couldn’t see you.

“Got some bad news.”

“Ah.” There was a pause, until Hannah sank down in the chair behind the desk. “I see. Well, finish your tea, then you can go home. You can have the day off tomorrow, but that’s the best I can do for you. We need all hands on deck, so you’ll have to come back to work the day after.”

 “Thank you.”

You took a big gulp of the tea, savouring the hot liquid warming the back of your throat. Almost immediately your mind returned to Mitchell, and you reached out to touch his ring. Only then did you notice that it wasn’t there and you jumped up, frantically scanning the room. You felt your eyes watering again, and within seconds Hannah was next to you, pushing you back down into the chair. Of course you had to lose it now, of all times! Your eyes darted around the room, while your mind rushed back through the events of the day, trying to remember when you’d seen it last. Then, the realisation hit you and another loud sob escaped your throat.

 “I threw it away. How could I throw it away?”

“What, darling, what?”

Hannah was petting your hair, looking down at you with a mixture of worry and pity in her eyes that only served to make you feel worse.

“The ring, I threw it away!”

 

 

While Hannah insisted that you stayed where you were, she sent out some of the boys to look for the engagement ring while you finished your tea. Despite their best efforts, none of them found anything in the courtyard, which sent you into frenzy again. It didn’t help anything, though. Once you had calmed down again, you were sent back home empty-handed.

You spent the night and the following day in bed, not even rising to eat or go to the toilet. Somebody must’ve informed your parents, because none of them tried to rouse you from your spot. Instead, your mother brought several meals throughout the day, the worry in her eyes growing when she had to take the plates away untouched after a few while. Your father also came to check on you from time to time, talking to you in low tones and running his hand through your hair.

 

When the sun rose and the next morning dawned, you contemplated just turning around and hiding inside your blankets. Fuck the outside world and their needs, fuck work, fuck everything. Where was the sense in getting up? But then you remembered the trauma in your patients’ eyes, and the harrowing sadness you felt whenever their red-rimmed gaze turned towards you. So you ground your teeth and got up, arguing to yourself that you could use the distraction, anyway.

It was still early when you arrived at the military compound, and even though it was already summer the air was still cold. With a shiver you pulled your coat tighter around your body, before fishing for the pack of cigarettes in your pocket. Lighting it, you walked into the familiar courtyard. It looked different to you. Somehow, the entire world seemed different. It was as if something at its very basis had shifted when the news of Mitchell’s fate had reached your ears.

“(Y/N)!”

A voice echoed through the courtyard, and when you turned you found that it was Alex, sprinting out of one of the doors leading to the barracks. He looked you over once he halted in front of you, noticing how your posture had changed. Usually you always seemed stressed and wired, whizzing through the place with determination and urgency. Today you looked small, your shoulders hanging down. It seemed as if your body tried to curl around itself, trying to form a protective position even while standing upright. You noticed the concern in his eyes as he regarded you, and forced a think smile onto your lips.

“Do you want one?”

Alex shook his head, fishing something out of his pockets.

“Finally bought my own,” He said, presenting her a half-smoked pack of fags. “Look, I didn’t get to say this the other day, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

You were surprised to find that his comment didn’t faze you. You had expected any mention of Mitchell to hit you like a fist in the stomach, but right now you seemed to feel nothing. It must be the shock, you told yourself, taking another drag of your cigarette. In response to Alex you only nodded.

His gaze lingered on you while he lit his cigarette and took the first drag. Then, as if he finally came to a decision, he reached into his pocket again, before holding his hand out to you.  

“I thought you might want to have this back.”

In his open palm was Mitchell’s ring.  You felt a low pull inside your chest, but quickly swallowed it down. It was curious. When you had noticed its loss, you had been inconsolable, screaming and crying with no end in sight. Now that you got it back, it just barely broke through the thick veil of shock and indifference that surrounded you.

“Thank you.”

You took the ring into your hand, staring down it at for a while. Then, with a sigh, you put it into the pocket of your coat.

“No use in wearing it anymore, huh?”


	4. III. Querencia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decide to tackle your grief, seeking out the help of a certain someone
> 
> Querencia- (n.) a place where one feels safe, which one’s strength of character is drawn, a place where one feels at home.

Over the next few weeks the pain of losing Mitchell faded to a dull throb in your stomach. Once you got over the shock, you sometimes woke up crying his name at night, but even those incidents grew less and less frequent. You supposed it would have been much worse if you had lost him when he was still here, at home with you, one day holding you in the arm and gone the next. This way, though, you were barely able to remember what his face looked like, even before you had heard the news about his death. You buried his ring under photographs of the two of you in the lowest drawer of your vanity, and resisted the temptation to open it again. Still, even as the pain faded thoughts of him kept ghosting through your mind. You noticed how your parents hid the newspapers from you, and through buying your own you found out they were filled with tales from survivors of the disaster at Dunkirk. Your stomach tied in knots at the thought of what he might have been through, and slowly but surely you grew convinced that understanding what he went through would provide you the closure you needed to move on.

You stood in the schoolyard, smoking a cigarette and watching the now deserted grounds. As soon as you had recorded the information of the last soldiers, plans were set in motion to bring the boys home. Since then, more and more soldiers had left the military compound each day, filing out of the iron gates. By now, the church had been handed back to the priest, and masses were held again where only a few weeks ago hundreds of soldiers had slept in tiny cots. Only a few of the wounded remained, holed up in the former atrium of the school, and even they would be leaving in only a few days’ time. You had already received word that you would be transferred to work in the local hospital as soon as the last man had left the building.

It was weird, seeing the soldiers that had come from the area around town back on the streets. Alex, apparently, had grown up just a few streets away from you, yet you couldn’t remember ever seeing his face. You didn’t have the time to say goodbye to him, and you remembered feeling a pang of sadness when one day you realised that he had left without a word. That, of course, was before you had seen him at the shops a few days later, carrying a small packet of eggs and a few beers. He’d seemed happy to see you, but you also couldn’t get over the concern in his eyes. It was understandable, though. The last time the two of you had talked, your head had still been clouded by shock. Still, he quickly scribbled down his address on a slip of paper, handing it to you with a shy smile and asking you to step by anytime you needed to talk. You thanked him politely, thinking to yourself that you would never ever unload your burden on a man that had lived through so much trauma.

Almost automatically your hand reached into your jacket pocket, palming the little slip of paper that was still hiding there. Despite your internal refusal to take him up on his offer, it had become a source of comfort for you in the last few weeks. So far, Alex had been the only one who seemed like he actually wanted to talk. Everybody else just walked on eggshells around you, quickly changing the topic whenever Dunkirk was brought up. You didn’t want to complain about it, because at first this behaviour had helped you cope. For a week or two after you heard the news, you didn’t want to be confronted by any thoughts of the war. It reminded you too much of Mitchell’s fate, and that brought on an avalanche of emotions you weren’t ready to deal with. Instead you pushed the topic to the back of your mind, and focused on your daily life, immersing yourself in your work. But by now work had slowed down, and as you ceased needing to function every day the thought of Mitch had come back, and with it the carefully ignored emotions. But even those were running thin now, and all you wanted to do was learn how to deal with the loss and move on.

With a sigh you flicked your cigarette away and headed back inside, your fist tightly closing around the small slip of paper in your pocket.  You wanted to find out more about Dunkirk, about the things that happened there, and Alex was the only person who seemed willing to help you with that. Still unsure about whether this was a good idea, you came to a decision. One little visit couldn’t hurt right?

 

Your bravery almost left you when you stood in front of the apartment complex that was Alex’s home. It was in a rundown part of town, the outside of the house stained with soot and dirt. You took a deep breath and climbed the steps to the front door and into the hallway. If the outside of the house had looked untrustworthy, the inside looked worse. The stairs seemed like they hadn’t been cleaned up in years, the wallpaper was torn in some places and in others people had scratched in their names with a knife or a pencil. For a moment you considered turning back again, before you ground your teeth and continued your climb, determined to go through with your plan.

His apartment was on the third floor, according to the little number scrawled on the slip of paper that you held so tightly in your hand, your knuckles were turning white. Your knock echoed through the empty hallway, and you shifted on your feet as you waited for a reaction from inside. A loud crash sounded through the door, followed by a string of swears. Then, the door was pulled open.

“Who the fuck –“

He cut of, his jaw dropping. You looked him over, taking in his frame, from the dishevelled brown locks that were sticking in all directions to the spots of brown sauce splattered on his white shirt. This was the first time you’d seen him in civilian clothes, aside from your encounter at the shops, where you had been too distracted by your own problems to really appreciate the change. His shirt was tucked into black trousers, the suspenders dangling from his hips. You could make out the outline of a tattoo on his lower arm, when he raised it to scratch the back of his head.

“Am I interrupting something?” You finally asked, when it didn’t seem he would seize the first words.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Hello.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter his house. As soon as he had closed the door behind you he was helping you out of your coat, folding it over a chair.

“Uhm, I was just cooking,” He finally said, tilting his head towards what you assumed was his kitchen. “I didn’t expect you to actually come by.”

“Oh,” You cleared your throat. “Oh. Uhm. I can leave again. I’m sorry. I just thought –“

He chimed in. “Oh no. No. Stay. Have some food. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m glad you’re here, I just… it’s been a while, and I thought you might have forgotten, or didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t think I’d want to, either.” You admitted, biting down on your bottom lip. For a short moment there was an awkward pause as you debated how much to say. “Uhm, do you need help with the cooking?”

He shook his head, leading the way into the kitchen.

“It’s almost done, anyway. Hope you like pulled pork with potatoes?”

 

You ate the food in awkward silence, sitting side by side on the couch in Alex’s living room. The flat was sparsely furnished, equipped with only the bare necessities.

“Did you just move in?” You asked through a mouthful of pork, eager to fill the silence.

He nodded, swallowing his food.

“Yeah. Needed a flat to stay in for my holidays, you know. They gave us a year off. A year!”

“You looking forward to going back?”

“Fuck no,” He tried to catch an allusive potato on his fork. “I’d rather never go back.”

You put down your now-empty plate on the coffee table, looking around the room. Before you sat down, Alex had removed a balled up bunch of clothing from the couch, which were now lying in the corner next to the door. A few books were scattered on the floor, and a radio stood at the windowsill. Not knowing what to answer to his question you send an awkward smile in his direction. He mimicked your action and put his plate down, crossing his legs when he turned towards you.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Uhhhh” You drew out, your hand reaching out to play with a piece of lint on the couch beside you. “I am not so sure.”

“Right.”

“It’s just… you know. Uh,” With a gulp you straightened your posture. “It’s about Mitchell. Yeah.”

When you looked up Alex nodded with an encouraging smile, edging you on.

“Uh. Well, you offered to talk to me, remember? And so far, nobody else seems willing to talk. My parents, my friends, the other nurses… they all like to pretend nothing ever happened. They’re walking on eggshells, they’re… like, every time something about Dunkirk is on the radio, my father jumps and turns it off. You know?”

Alex nodded, his tongue flitting over his lips.

“Yeah, I know. They’re just trying to protect you from the pain, I think.”

“I know, I know but…,” Your eyes travelled to the ceiling. “I think I’m at a point where I just need to talk about it, you know? A-About Mitch, about Dunkirk, about everything. I’m tired of ignoring a topic that’s all around me, anyway. I mean, I work at a first-aid station for Dunkirk survivors, for fuck’s sake. How do they expect to shelter me from that?”

He let out a laugh.

“When it comes to their children, parents are not always the smartest people around.”

There was a slight pause, after you nodded.

“You said you didn’t think you wanted to come. Why?”

Suddenly your hands were very interesting. When had your nails become so chipped?

“(Y/N)?”

“Well…,” You started, stretching the word to its extent. “Uh. I wasn’t sure if you’re the right person to talk to, you know? I mean…we barely know each other. And, uhm, well… Yeah. I wanna talk about Dunkirk. I wanna understand what happened to him.”

There was a short silence.

“So why wouldn’t I be the right person? I mean, I was there.”

“Yeah, but… well, look, I’m just gonna come out with it. Enough with the stammering.” You took a deep breath. “You were there, and you went through so much trauma. I don’t know if you want to relive that.”

Again, there was a silence between you. When you glanced up at him through the corner of your eyes he was staring at the opposite wall, biting on his lip. Then, with a slight shake of his head he focused back on you, a hesitant smile spreading on his features.

“Well, since you were honest with me, I’m gonna be honest right back. I feel like you. It’s weird, how a week can change your perspective on life. It feels unnatural… getting up in the morning, buying some milk down at the shops, making breakfast, greeting your neighbours… when just two months ago I was constantly on the verge of death. It doesn’t seem right, it’s… It feels weird,” He grimaced. “So maybe this would be good for the two of us.”


	5. IV. Inferno

You had tea with Alex every night for the following week. As soon as your shift ended, you marched straight over to his house, only stopping to buy some shortcakes or pastries on the way. Mostly you just talked about your lives, before and after Dunkirk, and how everything had changed. Even though the topic of the actual events at Dunkirk was still avoided by the two of you, you found these talks helped you cope with your daily life. It was refreshing to talk to somebody openly, about anything or nothing at all, while the rest of your social life was spent in silence, listening to shallow radio programmes with your parents. Everybody else just treated you like a delicate doll that had to be protected from any contact with harsh topics, or even worse like a bomb that was about to go off at the slightest mention of the war. Alex, on the other hand, just treated you like a friend.

You learned about his past life, how he had grown up as the son of a sickish mother and an absent father, who divided his time between the steel factory outside of town and the pub down the road. He talked about his life at school, about how he had wanted to become a baker before the war, and about the friends he used to have.

“I can’t look any of them in the eye anymore,” he admitted one night, when you were sitting in his living room listening to Swing on the radio. “Those that are still alive, I mean. Of those that were dispatched, I am the only one that’s back already, and the only one that survived France. One of them – Stevie, the one with acne, remember? – is still somewhere in the colonies. The others have never seen combat, never seen fighting … they just don’t understand.”

He took a drag of his cigarette, and you both watched intently as the smoke circled around the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. After a while he passed it over to you, and now it was your turn to inhale the smoke into your lungs.

“At first they celebrated me as a hero, you  know,” He continued after a pause, smoke streaming from his mouth. “They all did, everyone. The British public was so happy we were still alive… But after a while I could see the reproach in their eyes. We were supposed to be the line of defence, keeping France free and pushing the Nazis back into their own country. Instead we had to be rescued, had to return home with our tail between our legs. Now England is next on Hitler’s list, and it’s all because we failed.”

“You sound like you believe that.”

“Sometimes I do.”

You sat up, shaking your head violently.

“Alex, no! You are a hero. Yes, yes, I know, all you did was survive blah blah blah,” You gestured wildly with the cigarette, waving his objection aside. “But can’t you see that’s enough? You survived against all odds stacked against you, you went through hell and you came back out on the other side. Your friends – no offence – they’re stupid dickheads. They’ve never seen combat, they’ve been tucked away safe and sound in England while you were sitting on that wretched beach, fearing for your life. They have no right to even think in these categories, let alone make you feel like you failed them.”

He smiled as he plucked the cigarette from your hands and put it between his lips.

“I know, I know. But still, sometimes I can’t help but feel like I’ve failed the people here.”

“Well, you haven’t. Take it from me; after all I am one of the people here, right?”

 He shot you a look from the corner of his eyes and nodded.

“Thank you for saying that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

For a while you sat in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth between the two of you. Content you let your eyes roam over Alex’s face, noticing the change in his features. He seemed different from when you first met him, changed somehow. Sometimes you could still see the haunted look flickering in his eyes, but all in all he seemed healthier, less scarred. He had put on weight, and with it the colour had returned to his cheeks. He was certainly handsome, in a boyish way. His short brown locks, that he never seemed able to tame, framed his face perfectly. With a pang you suddenly thought of Mitchell, and for a second you wondered why. Appearance-wise, the two men were exact opposites. Your fiancé’s tall, lanky frame appeared before your inner eye, blonde hair paired with a thin, angular face.

“Can I ask you something?” Alex interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward to stub out the cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table.

You nodded.

“It’s about Mitchell,” He clarified.

“Okay?”

“Would you rather – I mean, if I hadn’t found Gus, you would’ve never known that he drowned halfway across the ocean. Instead you would’ve gotten the letter, like all the other people who lost somebody, you know, saying that he fell at war, fighting for his country, died in honour and all that other bullshit. Wouldn’t that have been better?”

You thought it over for a second, before finally shaking your head.

“In the end, it wouldn’t have changed anything. You forget that I was there, treating you guys, dealing with you on a day to day basis. I know we lost most people on the channel, not in the skirmishes in the days before,” You paused. “No, it’s better this way.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands, fiddling with his nails.

“I was just wondering. You know, I felt so helpless when you had that breakdown, after I made Gus tell you the news. And I felt bad. I thought maybe it was my fault, you know, that maybe you wouldn’t have been so distressed if you hadn’t known the details. If you hadn’t known that he basically died for nothing.”

 A lump formed in your throat but you swallowed it down. Alex noticed the tears forming in your eyes and he sat up, grasping your hand in his.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

You blinked heavily, clearing your throat.

“It’s okay. You’re right, his death was senseless. He didn’t die in battle, he died afraid and screaming when he was already on the way home. And that’s not right, it’s not. What kind of asshole bombs soldiers in retreat?”

Alex gave you a half smile.

“That’d be Hitler.”

When you laughed, the lump in your throat disappeared. You returned his gesture, grasping his hand in yours, and sent him a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Alex. Without you I still wouldn’t know.”

 

Alex’s flat became your harbour, the cave you hid away in at the end of tiring and exhausting days. Your parents didn’t suspect a thing, even though they did notice a change in your demeanour. Your father repeatedly commented on how happy your new workplace seemed to make you, and you heard your parents whisper how good it was for you to get away from the military compound. In their minds, you knew, their strategy of sweeping everything under the rug had worked. Still, the war raged on. Churchill held speeches on the radio, talking about how the Battle of Britain was imminent and the fear of German invasion loomed over everybody’s head like a dark cloud. And then one day, the airstrikes started. The Germans seemed to be concentrated on RAF facilities and the area around London, but still you had to learn how to evacuate the hospital in case of an airstrike. Alex grew more fidgety at the thought of bombs, and even though he tried to hide it from you, you knew memories of Dunkirk haunted him at every mention of the airstrikes.

More and more strikes were conducted, and the target range seemed to widen every few days. Despite the best efforts of the Air Force, there didn’t seem to be much they could do about the Luftwaffe, sweeping down at more and more cities of the country. Alex believed that it was just a matter of time until they would attack your small town, and when you asked him why he thought so he just shook his head.

“The steel factory. They’re attacking anything that would help our war effort. It’s an obvious target.”  


Ever since then, your eyes were constantly cast skywards, jumping at everything that sounded remotely like a siren. And sure enough, somebody higher up must have realised the threat as well, because you were soon ordered to evacuate the hospital. An ambulance came to pick the patients up, carrying them to rural areas or sending them home. You were ordered to stay on call, providing medical care to the patients in less dire situations in their own houses. Suddenly, you had a lot of free time on your hands. You had to spend most of it at home with your mother, since you needed to stay close to the telephone, and you couldn’t help but feeling caged in. Still, you managed to sneak out to meet Alex for a cup of coffee or two at the café down the street once in a while, and you noticed how he grew more paranoid the more time passed.

“It’s the waiting that gets you, you know,” he muttered into his cup when you asked him about it. “Even at Dunkirk, with the constant bombing, the waiting was the worst.”

At that you grasped his hand in yours, not wanting to push the topic further.

   
The first air strike on your town happened just a few days after that meeting at the coffee shop. You were sitting on the living room couch, reading a book, when suddenly the siren went off. You and your mother turned to look at each other, and you could see the same panic that clenched your stomach reflected in your eyes. She stood up, slowly putting down her knitting.

“We should probably get outside,” She yelled, trying to be heard over the harsh mewling of the alarm.

It was almost comical, how slow you reacted. Even though you had been subjected to frequent evacuation drills at your work, you realised you were utterly unprepared for the situation.

“Shouldn’t we hide underneath the stairs?” You yelled back, ignoring the siren pounding in your head.

Your mother shook her head, all colour slowly draining from her face.

“The house will collapse on top of us.”

You nodded and gestured for her to lead the way outside. On the street, a bunch of your neighbours stood huddled together, nobody quite sure what to do now. And above it all echoed the deafening sound of the sirens. Suddenly a loud explosion could be heard, and you winced. Several people screamed around you, and when you turned around you could see black smoke rising to the sky from a few streets down. You were still gawking at it, when suddenly you were pushed to the ground, vaguely aware of a weight on top of you. You struggled against it, confused, when suddenly a voice yelled for everybody to get down. It only took a second for you to recognise Alex’s voice.

“What are you –“

A loud explosion interrupted you, again, followed by the noise of debris hitting the ground. You moved your head as much as Alex’s weight on top of you would allow, and saw another pillar of smoke rising, this one closer to you. Then, suddenly, the sirens stopped and there was a deafening silence. After a minute or so, when no other bombs fell from the sky, Alex pulled you to your feet.

“Are you okay?”

He gave you a quick once-over. His eyes were burning with intensity, and he seemed more awake than you had seen him in weeks. You could feel his fingers pressing in your arm where he was holding you, a strange energy resonating from them through your entire body. He seemed wired, as if he had a few too many coffees that morning.

“What are you even doing here?”

But you didn’t get an answer. As soon as the confirmation that you were fine had reached him, a radical change rippled through his body. His posture seemed to slump and he started to shake uncontrollably. You could see his muscles clench, and without a warning he suddenly collapsed, his legs giving out underneath him. You caught him just before he hit the floor, pulling him back up with all your strength.

“Alex?” You asked, your heart racing at the state of him.

“Who is this, (Y/N)?” You heard your mother ask behind you, but you ignored her question.

Instead, you gave the shaking soldier in front of you a quick once over. When you concluded that he was physically fine and uninjured, you refocused on his face. His eyes were roaming the area around you, focusing again and again on the black pillars of smoke on the horizon. He was shivering violently, and it almost seemed that all that was holding him up was your hand on his arm.

“(Y/N)!” Your mother repeated, her hand clasping on your shoulder.

You whisked around.

“I’m fine, mum! Can’t you see I don’t have time for this?”

You almost felt bad for snapping at her like this, but when you returned your gaze to Alex, all thoughts of her were quickly wiped from your mind.

“ ‘Mon then.” You mumbled, slowly leading him forward. “Let’s get you home.”


	6. V. Turmoil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the lovely people that commented and gave Kudos to this story! It's really encouraging, and wonderful to hear. You guys are the best ❤

By the time you reached his flat, Alex’s state had changed again. The shivering had ceased, and instead he was just letting you drag him along, blankly staring at the air in front of him. He seemed completely out of his mind, and whenever you tried to talk to him he wouldn’t react at all. It was so bad that you had to search his pockets for the keys to his door. At first you considered running him a warm bath, because every muscle in his body was tense, protruding through the skin. But then you remembered what he must be reliving in his head, and you realised that confronting him with water was probably not a very good idea. So instead you put him to bed, wrapping him in all the blankets you could find. Then you set down next to him, on the edge of the mattress, and wondered what you were supposed to do.

Your parents were probably furious. At least your mother had seen you after the air strike, so they both knew you were alive and unharmed. Still, you had run off with a complete stranger with no explanation, and the way you had snapped at your mother probably didn’t help your case at all. You knew you should probably be heading home now that you had delivered Alex to his flat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him alone in the state he was in. So you remained where you were, watching your friend stare up at the ceiling.

After a while you stood up, straightening your shirt.

“Hey, Alex. I’m gonna go and make you some tea, ok?” You did your best to keep your voice gentle, afraid that the slightest disturbance might startle him.

He reacted quickly, his hand snatching out and closing around your arm. You startled, and suddenly found yourself at the receiving end of an intense stare.

“No,” He rasped, desperation evident in his tone. “No.”

Your tongue darted across your lips as you slowly nodded, sitting back down beside him. His hand disappeared underneath the covers again, but instead of returning his gaze to the ceiling his eyes stayed fixed on you.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, your hand reaching out to touch his cheek. “I’m here, Alex. I’m not going anywhere.”

His face melted into your touch, and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank you.”

You could barely make out his words, but their meaning was apparent. A strange feeling vibrated in your stomach, and with a start you realised that it was directed at the man in front of you. It hurt to see him like this, and you were almost overwhelmed with the instinct to take care of him. Without being aware of it you started to caress his face with your thumb.

“You’re going to be okay.”

  


You woke up when the morning sun hit your eyes. With a yawn you opened your eyes and looked around, momentarily confused that you didn’t find the familiar surroundings of your room around you. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, yet here you were, head resting on Alex’s chest, your legs tucked into the small space next to him. He was lying on his back, his chest slowly rising and falling, a slight whistle escaping his nose whenever he exhaled. As you tried to sit up you noticed an unfamiliar weight was holding you down. You slowly reached behind your head, prodding his chest as softly as possible so you wouldn’t wake him, and realised that his hand was preventing you from getting up, as if he had fallen asleep with it buried in your hair. Warmth spread in your body at the thought, but you were quickly distracted from it as Alex stirred in his sleep, letting out a soft groan. You felt his body tense underneath you. No doubt he was as startled as you had been when he woke to find somebody in bed with him.

He reached up to rub his eyes, and you used the moment to sit up and stretch your sore limbs. When you turned to look at him you found him staring at you, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Morning,” You broke the silence, sending him a shy smile. “Are you feeling better?”

He slowly nodded.

“I didn’t expect you to still be here, to be honest.”

You laughed sheepishly, looking away to hide your embarrassment.

“Yeah, me neither. I must have fallen asleep.”

He pushed the blanket aside and got up, copying your stretching motion.

“Well, I’m gonna make some breakfast. Want some?”

You nodded, and he disappeared into the hallway without another word. After taking a moment to collect your thoughts and straighten your wrinkled clothing, you followed him. He was already in the kitchen, fumbling with the stove, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. You plucked it from his lips as he reached for a carton of eggs and put it between yours, before bending down to light it on the flame underneath the pan. The two of you shared the cigarette in silence while he fried the eggs and some sausages.

“Can I ask you something?” You spoke up as he divided the breakfast onto two plates.

He grunted in response, which you took as a sign to continue.

“Why were you at my house yesterday?”

He let out a barking laugh.

“That’s your question? After everything that happened yesterday, that’s all you wanna ask?”

“Not everything,” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “But I figured you’d answer the others by yourself whenever you’re ready.”

With a sigh he handed you your plate.

“Fair enough.”

“So?”

He leaned against the counter, pushing the food around his plate. After a while he shrugged, shooting you a nervous look.

“To be honest, I’m not completely sure.”

“How can you not be sure?”

“When the sirens started… it was like my mind shut off. I was just running on auto pilot, you know? I don’t know,” he hesitated. “I barely remember what happened. It’s like a blur.”

You couldn’t help but smile at these words, and your stomach twisted in a familiar way. You quickly hid your reaction by stuffing some egg in your mouth. He watched you with raised eyebrows, his mouth twitching.

“What about you? Why didn’t you go back home after you tucked me into bed.”

“Well,” you replied haughtily. “I’m a nurse. Can’t leave someone behind in that state of mind, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Besides, you didn’t even want me to go and make tea. I was basically forced to stay here.”

His face fell, and he looked down onto his plate. You sighed, putting your plate on top of the counter. Hesitantly you stepped closer to him, searching his eyes .

“Look, Alex, if you wanna talk about it…you can. You don’t need to, but I just want to make sure I’m you know I’m here to listen.”

He avoided your eyes as he nodded, focusing on his plate. At first, it didn’t seem as if you’d get another reaction, but then suddenly he drew a deep breath and looked up at you.

“Thank you, really. But I don’t really know what to say…,” He hesitated and then put his plate down, wringing his hands. “I mean, we both know what happened to me yesterday. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about the beach, and the bombs, and … yeah. On one hand, I would love to get it off my chest, to maybe have it go away, but… I don’t know how.”

You wrinkled your forehead and reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

“What is so hard about it?”

He sniffed nervously.

“Well, on one hand… I don’t think you would understand. Even thinking about my experience at Dunkirk is … it’s just hard to put into words. I don’t know if I could do it properly, you know?” He paused, looking at you for confirmation. “And then… During my time there I did some things I’m not very proud of, you know? I don’t want you to think differently of me, if I’m honest.”

“Alex, you did those things to survive!” You exclaimed, and he smiled down at you.

“See? You’re one of the only people who still think of me as a hero, of sorts. It’s selfish, I know, but I really don’t want that view to change.”

“It’s not gonna,” You said with a reassuring smile. “No, really, it’s not. I know you, Alex. I know that you’re a good person. And I know that survival makes people do nasty, nasty things. But the real you, the you right here,” you prodded his chest, “it’s good. It’s very good.”

Alex grew very quiet, looking down at you.

“How can you know that.”

You shrugged.

“Your views, your behaviour, your actions. See, for example, yesterday. You were in survival mode, you were scared out of your wits, but you still came looking for me. I mean… we were literally being bombed. And you ran right towards the centre of chaos, just to make sure I’m okay. How can you doubt that you’re a good person?”

He swallowed.

“Maybe I did it because I’m selfish.”

“How the fuck is that selfish?”

There was a long silence as he regarded you. His eyes were searching yours, but you didn’t know for what. All you knew that underneath his gaze your stomach started to flutter. Then he slowly shook his head.

“I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“Alex?”

He sighed. “Maybe I just can’t lose you, too.”

 

You stayed at Alex’s flat for a little while, before you remembered that your parents were probably waiting for you at home. When you said goodbye to him, you couldn’t help but pull him into a hug, and you noticed that the physical barrier in your relationship had been crossed. Before this day, your touches had never lingered, but now you touched each other more often and for longer periods of time.  None of you seemed eager to let go of each other, and when you finally wiggled out of his arms, he planted a quick kiss on your cheeks. You hid your blush behind a wide smile, before you turned to bounce down the stairs of his building.

The walk back home seemed to clear your head a little, and you started to wonder at your newly discovered reactions to your friend. Your stomach still twirled when you thought of his lips grazing your cheek, and you found yourself touching the spot on your face they had touched, an oblivious smile on your features. You jerked your hand away, the image of Mitchell swimming before your inner eye. Bile rose in your throat, and you quickly shook your thoughts of Alex away. Were you really going to move on from your fiancé so quickly? Only 3 months ago you had been looking forward to marry Mitch, awaiting his return eagerly. Did it really take that little time to get over the death of a person you loved? You thought of Alex’s smile, and the way he had looked at you when he had told you he couldn’t bear to lose you. Tears of shame and grief welled in your eyes, and you swallowed them down.

You were so preoccupied with these thoughts, that you completely forgot about your parents. When you opened the door to the house and stalked into the hallway, you were forcefully reminded by your father storming towards you, a stern look on his face.

“Where the hell have you been?”

You avoided his gaze and slipped of your shoes, not sure what he wanted to hear.

“Hey, look at me, young lady!” He bellowed, and you froze, looking up at him with big eyes. “We were worried sick! Your mother said you went off with a guy, and then you never came home last night! We were up until god knows when waiting for you to come back! What were you thinking?”

At that you burst into tears. You had expected the anger, but it never once crossed your mind that they were worried. It was like the realisation opened a floodgate inside your chest, the cocktail of emotions that were swirling deep inside of you burst out, resulting in a stream of tears. Your father immediately caught you in a hug, petting your hair and shushing you quietly.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed against his chest. “I am so sorry.”

This outburst didn’t change the fact that you had to answer your parent’s questions once you had calmed down, but their tone softened as soon as they realised you hadn’t acted out of malice or teenage rebellion. Still, you didn’t tell them the whole truth. You explained that Alex had been a patient of yours, and that you had kept in contact with him. You also explained that he was shell-shocked, and that you saw it as your duty to take care of him. What you failed to mention were your mixed feelings towards the young soldier, and the fact that you had woken up in his bed. When their curiosity was satisfied, your parents send you to your room. Your only punishment was a stern warning not to do it again.

Almost by instinct, you wandered over to your vanity, retrieving the pictures and your ring from the drawers you had hidden them in. A knot tightened in your stomach as you flipped through the photographs, seeing the two of you smiling and laughing and dancing together. When you ran out of pictures to stare at, you finally reached for his ring, twirling it in your fingers.

He was dead, you reminded yourself. But why, then, did it feel as if you were betraying him? Wasn’t it true that people had no control over their feelings?

“I’m sorry,” You apologised for the second time today, this time in a whisper. “You deserve better.”


	7. VI. Limerence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I was on a holiday, so that's why the updates have been so spaced out lately :) I'm back now tho, and I hope the content of this chapter is a little consolation. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's a bit shorter than the previous ones.

That was how your mother found you a few hours later. She knocked on your door, a tray of cookies in her hand. You were sitting on the floor of the room when she entered, your back leaning against the wall and your eyes staring into nothing. Your fingers were still fiddling with the ring absentmindedly.

“Oh honey,” She said, putting the tray down on your bedside table. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up at her and shrugged, your lip quivering. She sat down beside you, pulling you close and rubbing your chin. The two of you stayed like this for a while, before your mum pulled away, cupping your face in her hands.

“I think I know what’s wrong,” She said with a smile, wiping your tears away. “It’s that soldier boy of yours, isn’t it?”

You cast your eyes to the floor in shame, and she sighed.

“Tell me, does he know yet? What was his name again?”

With a sniff you shook your head.

“Alex.”

“Alex. Well, he seems like a nice enough guy. I mean, he ran through an airstrike to save you, what else does a mother want?”

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” You asked, your voice weak.

“Oh, Honey, no,” Your mother pulled you closer again and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “No you’re not. I’m just happy for you.”

“You are?”

“Yes. And I think Mitch would be, too.”

You grimaced at the mention of him.

“Are you sure? It feels like I’m cheating.”

“Well… I think he wouldn’t want you to be miserable and alone forever.”

“But so soon?” You couldn’t help but hate how hopeful your voice sounded.

“He wouldn’t want you to be miserable at all, honey. At least that’s how I knew him.” She clambered to her feet, holding on to your vanity for support. “Don’t put yourself down, sweetie.”

When she left the room, you marvelled at how she had managed to make you feel better with only a few words.

 

Now that your mother knew about Alex and your meetings with him, there was no need to sneak around anymore. Even though you wondered briefly whether it wouldn’t be better to stay away from him for a while, you couldn’t resist. You went to his flat almost every day. The change in your relationship, that you had noticed when you had left his flat the day after the air strike, became more apparent the more you saw him. He finally talked about his time in Dunkirk, and more often than not you found yourself embracing him on his couch, overwhelmed by the pain he carried with him every single day. As you had predicted, your view of him didn’t change, not even when he told you about Gibson, the French soldier he had wanted to sacrifice to get home.

“He died in that boat,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with unspilled tears. “I told him to get out, but he took too long.”

His head was resting in your lap, and he stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes. You played with a strand of his hair, your heart aching for Alex.

“You did your best,” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

“I was ready to send him out, right into the arms of the Germans,” His eyes searched yours. “It should’ve been me in that wrack. He didn’t deserve it.”

You shook your head.

“Nobody deserves that, Alex. You were panicked, trying to survive. And you did. And you deserved to.”

There was a short silence as his eyes roamed over your face.

“What if it had been Mitchell in that boat? Would I still deserve it?”

“It wasn’t Mitchell, though,” You pressed out, trying to ignore your stomach twisting.

“But if it had been, wouldn’t you rather he survived than somebody like me?”

You swallowed, averting your eyes from his face.

“That’s not a fair question.”

He didn’t reply. Your tongue darted out over your lips as your hands continued to twirl his hair around. With a sigh, you turned back towards him.

“If you’d asked me that a few months ago, my answer would have been simple. I would’ve sacrificed anyone and anything to get Mitchell back, to have him home with me, safe and sound.”

Alex nodded and pushed himself into an upright position. Then he focussed his gaze back on you, a determined expression on his face.

“And now?”

“You’re trying to figure out if I hate you now,” You breathed out, exasperated. “But I don’t, Alex. Just get that into your thick head, I don’t, okay!? I’m glad it was you that got out of that fucking boat, and it’s heartbreaking that Gibson died and drowned, but I’d rather it was him than you, and that’s the ugly fucking truth, okay? And now, if you really need to know the answer to your stupid fucking question, now I couldn’t choose anymore, okay? It’s a choice I’m not willing to make, not even theoretically, I can’t and I won’t. And the truth of the fucking matter is that Mitchell is dead and you are alive. And I’m really, really glad you are.”

There was a pause as he stared at you in awe, and you took a deep breath.

“Ok?”

 At the sound of your voice, something seemed to snap inside him, and within a second you were engulfed in rib-breaking hug. Alex clung to you like he was drowning all over again, and he let out a wrangled sob when he noticed your arms wrapping around him in return. After a second, you realised that he was laughing hysterically through his tears.

“Alex? Are you okay?”

You felt him nod against your neck.

“I really thought you’d hate me.” He choked out, his voice rough and strained. “I thought you’d resent me for surviving when others would deserve it more.”

You let out a huff of air.

“Bullshit. I already told you, you’re the best person I know,” you muttered, pulling on a strand of his hair for emphasis. “And I meant it. Without you, I would’ve been a shell of myself by now.”

A sniffle reached your ears.

“Really?”

“Yes. You might not have been able to save Gibson, but you’ve saved me, Alex. You saved me.”

He slowly pulled away to look you in the eye, his face hovering directly in front of yours. You could feel his breath, warm and wet with tears.

“(Y/N)…,”

He whispered your name, full of anguish. His eyes were awash, his long lashes sticking together, shimmering with water.  Unable to resist the urge to be closer to him, you leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes. For a moment you both revelled in the synchronisation of your breaths. A part of your brain marvelled at how close you felt to him in that moment, closer than you had ever felt to anyone, including Mitchell. And in that moment, Alex closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in the ghost of a kiss. Instinctively you drew him closer, melting into his lips. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, your stomach twisting and fluttering, but those sensations were all overpowered by the feeling of Alex against your skin. One of his hands was resting on the back of your neck, and the skin to skin contact made your entire body tingle and burn. It felt like the kiss lasted for a small eternity, but when you finally parted, both of you gasping for air, it seemed like no time had passed at all.

For a while the two of you just looked at each other in shock, unsure of how the other person would react now that the moment was over. Alex opened his mouth and then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words. It was in that moment, that the sirens went off again. Instantly, the moment changed. It was as if electricity vibrated through Alex’s body, and the confused haze and electric buzzing of the previous minutes evaporated into thin air. He grabbed you and dragged you out of the apartment, down the stairs and out the door. Shivering, the two of you watched as planes flew past overhead, towards the steel factory on the other side of town. More and more people poured out of the surrounding houses, but they all faded into the background. Your eyes were fixed on your friend, who was staring up at the sky, his body rigid and tense. With a sigh you wrapped your arms around his waist, nestling your head against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” You whispered. “They’re not here for us.”

His heartbeat echoed through your skull, rapidly hammering away inside his chest. He let out a deep breath, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“I know.”

You stayed like this for a long time, drawing comfort from each other’s embrace as you watched the horizon light up with flames and explosions.  


	8. VII Reverie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took me long enough!

You stayed like this until the sky was empty once again, the fires on the horizon burnt out and replaced by fading pillars of smoke. You could feel the electric tension leave Alex body as soon as the planes retreated, and he began shaking once again, just like last time. Gently, you pried yourself from his arms, taking his hand in yours and leading him back to his apartment. This time, however, he was not as numb as before. While his eyes flitted around, never once resting on a single place, he still had the presence of mind to unlock his own apartment. You took that as a good sign.

  
“I need to call my parents,” You whispered, afraid that he would retreat back into his own mind if you startled him by talking to loudly. “And I’ll make you a good, strong tea. Just hold on.”

  
You had placed him on the couch, wrapping a blanket around his sagging shoulders. His eyes found yours, as he held you back by grabbing your arm.

  
“You’ll come back, though, right?”

  
When your nod still left him unconvinced, staring up at you with wide, scared eyes, you bent down so your eyes were level with his.

  
“I’ll be right back, Alex. I promise.”

  
He released a stream of air from his nose, deflating even more in his position on the couch. Still, he let go of your arm and nodded, his eyes falling from your face to the floor. You bit your lower, hesitating only for a second before you pressed your lips to his forehead.

  
“I promise, Alex,” His skin felt cold against your lips as you muttered your promise.

  
He hugged the blanket tighter around his shaking frame as you got up, sending a lopsided smile into your direction. You answered with a shaky smile yourself, trying not to let him see that your heart broke from the sight of him.

  
Alex’ telephone was in the hallway, next to the entrance to the kitchen. You quickly started to boil up some water in a pot, before dialling your home number with shaking fingers.

  
“Hello?” Your father’s voice rang from the receiver, and you could immediately tell that he was nervous.

  
“Daddy, it’s me,” You only prayed that he couldn’t hear how small your voice sounded. “I just wanted to let you know I’m alright.”

  
“Oh thank god!” The relief was tangible in the air as your father let out a sigh on the other end of the line. “We’re also fine, here. Can you come home?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m… I’m with a patient right now,” You bit your lip, hoping he wouldn’t see through your lie. “Mum has the number of where I am. If the hospital calls, tell her to let me know, please.”

  
“I will.”

  
You hung up the phone and went to check on the water. You didn’t like lying to your parents, but there was no other choice. While your mother would certainly understand that you needed to stay with Alex when he was in this state, your father would never have allowed you to even stay in a flat with a man that was not your patient, let alone stay for as long as was needed to make Alex feel better.

  
When you returned to the living room with two steaming hot cups of tea in your hands, you found Alex in a state of despair. His hands were rubbing the back of his head feverishly, and he was staring up at the ceiling with tears brimming from his eyes. You swallowed down the lump that was forming in your throat at the sight and put on a reassuring smile as you sat down the tea cups on the small table. There was no reaction from him, and so you sat down next to him, pulling your knees close to your body, and lit a cigarette.  
It was almost burned out by the time Alex turned to you, red rimmed eyes focussing on your face.

  
“Can I ask you something?”

  
His voice was hoarse and rough, as if he had swallowed sandpaper. You nodded, meeting his eyes.

  
“Why are you still here?” You flinched as his voice cracked, and his eyes welled up.

  
With a sharp intake of breath he had himself back under control.

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“You kissed me back,” He stated flatly, sounding surprisingly in control. “Before. You kissed me back.”

  
Avoiding his eyes you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes as you nodded.

  
“I did.”

  
One more sharp intake of breath made your eyes flit up to his face, only to find him with his eyes closed, tears welling up from their corners. Still, his voice sounded flat and monotone when he asked the next question.

  
“Why? Why do you bother with someone like me?”

  
“’Cause I care about you,” You admitted softly, reaching out to run your fingers across the back of his hand. “What do you mean someone like you?”

  
He shuddered at the touch, his eyes opening to bore into yours with a surprising intensity. The stare made your bones ache.

  
“Someone so fucking broken,” His voice shook with pain. “Someone so fucked in the head that he can sometimes still hear the screams of the beach, or the waves hitting the sand, even when I’m just sitting here, staring at the wall.”

You hadn’t noticed tears starting to spill from your eyes, but now you became acutely aware of them as Alex stopped to study your face, pain and anger filling his expression.

  
“You don’t deserve this,” He whispered, almost inaudible. “You deserve someone whole, someone who’s not a complete fucking wreck.”

  
You shook your head.

  
“No. No. This is not about what I deserve,” You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, before you returned your eyes to his defiantly. “This is about what I want, Alex. And I want you.”

  
He deflated at your words. Your tongue nervously flicked over your lips as you watched his reaction, a shudder ripping through his shoulders to his face. He didn’t seem to comprehend what you were saying. With a sad smile, you tapped your finger against his temple.

  
“Besides, we’re at war. Where would I find a man that’s not a complete wreck, huh?”

  
He let out a snort, shaking his head.

  
“That’s not even funny.”

  
But he seemed to relax against the back of the couch, anyway. You smiled and leaned against him, fishing for another cigarette in your pocket before offering it to him.

  
“You seem like you could use one.”

  
He took it without comment, and you lit it for him. His eyes never left your face as he inhaled his first drag and you send him a small smile as you lit your own.

  
“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

  
“Would you stop talking about who deserves what?” You scooted closer to him, turning his head back to face you. “Personally, I think I deserve a man who runs towards an airstrike to make sure I’m okay. And I also think you deserve a woman who lies to her parents to take care of you when you’re shell-shocked. Not to equate those actions, of course,” You added quickly. “All I’m trying to say is… we take care of each other, okay? We deserve each other.”

  
He let out a compressed sigh, shifting in his seat to turn to look at you. His eyes were filled with pain, swimming in tears.

  
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” He whispered, his voice shaky and raw with emotion.

  
“You deserve me,” You repeated, reaching up to rest your hand on his cheek. “And I deserve you.”

  
His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a groan as if you had hit him. Then suddenly, after a sharp intake of press, he pressed his lips to yours again in a desperate kiss. It was different from the first one you had shared only a few hours ago. While the first one had been filled with longing and anguish, this one was indescribably more desperate. Alex’ hands gripped the sides of your head, holding onto you tightly, as if he were a dying man and you were his only chance at survival. Your hand fell from his face to the front of his shirt, palming the fabric between your fingers as you answered the kiss, trying to channel all you felt for him through your lips and into his brain. The kiss could have only lasted for a few minutes, but it felt like time was standing still as long as your lips were connected.

  
When you finally parted, both swallowing down lungfuls of air, his eyes were glued to your face in an incredulous stare. You smiled at him nervously, a warmth rising in your stomach as you noticed the unrepressed adoration in his gaze.

  
“Remember when you told me I was one of the lucky ones?” He finally muttered out, his hands playing with the tangles in your hair.

  
You let out a laugh.

  
“That was pretty stupid of me, wasn’t it?”

  
He grinned, before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

  
“And still I’m starting to believe you were right.”

  
You snaked your arms around his torso and let out a small laugh. A part of you marvelled at how natural it felt being so close to him, but at the same time you weren’t particularly surprised. Your friendship with Alex had been building up to this ever since you first showed up at his apartment. In hindsight, it was all perfectly clear. Alex rested his chin on your hair, taking another drag of the forgotten cigarette that dangled between his fingers. The atmosphere between you was hard to describe. It felt like a small, content reprieve from the horrors you both had been through in your everyday life, but at the same time you both were acutely aware that soon you would have to return to reality. Even though two airstrikes in a day were a rare occurrence, there was always the possibility of death raining down from the skies at any minute. You closed your eyes, pushing away all thoughts of the war, and allowed yourself to sink further into the comfort of the moment.

“I wish you could stay here forever,” Alex muttered, as if he had been reading your thoughts.

  
You placed a small kiss on his collarbone, drawing out the moment before you had to answer.

  
“Me too,” you finally muttered. “But I promise I’ll always come back.”

  
He drew back at your words, his eyes searching yours for confirmation of your words.

  
“Me too,” He echoed your words.

Almost hesitantly, you pressed your lips to his again in a quick kiss. There was nothing left to say at the moment, but strangely this loss for words didn’t bother you too much. The silence between you was comfortable, as Alex continued to stare at you in wonder, his hands roaming over your face and hair, never once resting. You enjoyed his administrations with closed eyes, humming softly when his hands passed over a particularly comfortable space.

"You're the only thing that makes sense to me right now."

Your eyes fluttered open only to find him staring at the ceiling again. It seems that the whisper had left his mouth unconsciously, and even now that they had been said he didn't seem to notice that he had spoken them out loud. You slowly sat up, searching his eyes before you reached out to touch his cheek. It was hard to judge his mood right now, and you didn't want to startle him. The last thing you wanted was for him to return to France again. 

"Alex..." 

His eyes slowly returned to yours, blinking away the tears that had gathered in their corners. It was only when you had his attention that you realised you didn't know what you wanted to say. The feeling in your chest was so enormous, so unknown, so indescribable... You didn't know how to form it into words. But you didn't have to. Alex reached up to hold your hand in his, trapping it against his cheek. He let out a shaky breath before he spoke, his voice sounding surprisingly stable. 

"I know." 


End file.
